𝑶𝒄𝒆𝒂𝒏 𝑬𝒚𝒆𝒔

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲 |𝟐𝟎|

"𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐧𝐨𝐰,
𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥."
• • •
𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲

"Ocean!"

I stop my angry stomp down the hallway and turn around in time to see Remo stepping out of the office.

"Ocean?" He calls again before jogging toward me, my notebook and pen in hand.

I still have a scowl in place when he comes to a stop in front of me, still furious about what happened not even five minutes ago.

"Hi."

And just like that, a part of my anger washes away. Peeping up at Remo, the expression on his face rocks me to my core. He's never looked like that before. Not at me, not at anyone. His eyes are slightly widened and his lips parted in shock.

"You got angry for me...You defended me...?" He sounds unsure - like he doesn't believe it. I nod.

"Do you remember what you wrote on that paper?" He holds my gaze as I shake my head, no. The only thing I could think about at that moment was my anger.

"You called them idiots. And then you called them assholes." My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. I don't swear so I am fairly shocked that I wrote that. Remo's lips quirk up ever so slightly but it disappears so fast l thought I imagined it.

"You said you wanted to punch Jason's father. You told them I saved you." He swallows thickly. "You told them that...I wasn't the monster. You said it was Jason." The way he says that makes me frown. It's like he doesn't believe the words I wrote. He says it like he believes he's a monster and that thought alone urges me to wrap my arms around his neck and hug him to me, but I stop myself just before I could.

"You also called me yours."

I blanch, my eyes nearly popping out of my head. I did what? Remo's bottom lip is tucked between his teeth, and that little smile I'm starting to become addicted to pulls at his lips. He lets out a breathy laugh as I cover my reddening face with the palms of my hands.

Oh my god! What is wrong with me?

"Derya." He grips my wrists and starts to pull my hands from my face but his phone rings right at that moment. He makes a rough noise and the warmth of his hand leaves me as he moves to pick up his phone.

"Cosa vuoi? ... Sono occupato... Sarò occupato anche dopo... Non ho a che fare con questa merda oggi... Affrontare da soli oggi."

He cuts the call and I'm hoping he doesn't bring up my anger-fueled writing. Thankfully, he doesn't. Instead, one hand touches my waist and gently pushes me to turn my back toward him. Remo places my notebook in my bag before zipping it up. Again, he touches my waist and turns me around to face him.